Le Français
Copyright© 2024 by BreaktheBar
Chapter 97
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 97 - On the hunt for the mysterious crimelord 'Le Français,' Detective Sinead Connors meets financial wizz Marc Fornier. When she needs his help in her investigation, Marc decides that she can pay him back through a little game...
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Coercion Consensual Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Crime BDSM DomSub MaleDom Light Bond Rough Spanking Group Sex White Male White Female Oriental Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Exhibitionism Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Sex Toys Tit-Fucking Big Breasts Public Sex Small Breasts Slow
The pounding on the front door drew both Marc and Sinead’s attention from their breakfast. Sinead’s reaction was to tense up and reach to put a hand on a weapon belt that she wasn’t wearing, while Marc’s was simply to frown and look in the direction of his entry hallway. Considering Sinead was still only wearing the luxuriously soft rabbit hair robe that Marc had put on her at the end of the night last night, she wasn’t entirely thrilled to have someone interrupting their morning.
Her ass fucking hurt.
Not in a way that made her worried she was injured, but with a deep ache that told her she’d be physically reminded of what she’d done for the next day or three.
“Please tell me that’s not a surprise, Marc,” Sinead sighed heavily.
“No, Detective,” Marc said, still frowning. “I wasn’t planning any more surprises for you today.”
The one surprise he had sprung on her that morning was another one of his disgustingly tasty home-cooked meals. Sinead really wasn’t sure how she felt about the fact that he could probably cook circles around her, and could practically hear her Mother cackling in her ear over the fact that she was with a man who could do that when Sinead had been so resistant to learning to cook as a girl.
He called it ‘Panettone,’ and it was basically a French toast made out of sourdough bread, but it was fucking good. Especially with the strawberries and whipped cream sort of topping thing he’d made to put on it. She felt wrong eating French toast without maple syrup, but Marc had practically scowled at her when she asked about it and had scooped more of that sugary cream onto her breakfast. And, to be fair, it didn’t need the maple syrup.
Marc got up from his seat at the kitchen island where they were eating, and strode confidently toward the door. Considering he was also wearing what he had worn to bed - namely a pair of briefs that were tight enough to show off the shape of his bulge even when he was soft - Sinead felt like he was maybe a little too confident.
A moment later she heard him mutter something to himself, and then he was opening the front door.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me with this shit, Marc,” a woman said as she stormed into the apartment, her footsteps approaching quickly. “You said this wasn’t going to be a problem, and now I’m wrapped up in- Oh, fucking hell.” She stopped when she saw Sinead. “You’re not Felicity.”
“I’m, um, not,” Sinead said.
The woman was young, maybe in her early twenties, and had strikingly vibrant dyed hair in a shade of green that Sinead would have expected from a video game and that was about it. Unrealistically, vibrant green. Even her eyebrows were green. She was also pale, pretty in an odd way, and dressed like she’d thrown on clothes that had been on her bedroom floor since she was a teenager. Her sweater was big, bulky and brown, with frayed cuffs at the wrists and some sort of faded symbol on the chest, and the sweatpants she was wearing were wrinkled heavily and spattered with some sort of paint.
She turned back to the hallway, glaring at Marc as he followed her after shutting and locking the door.
“Astrid,” he said. “This is Sinead. Detective Sinead. Detective, this is my friend Astrid.”
“Oh,” Astrid said, turning on Sinead. “So this is your fault.” She turned right back to Marc before Sinead could respond. “And you’re fucking her while this shit is going on?”
Marc sighed sharply, his pointed stare boring into the younger woman. “Can I offer you some breakfast so we can talk about this like adults, Astrid?”
The green-haired woman narrowed her eyes and then said, “Est-ce qu’elle parle français?”
“Pas particulièrement bien, non, “ Marc answered her.
“Est-ce que tu lui as au moins dit ce que tu m’as dit?”
“J’espérais pouvoir finir mon petit-déjeuner avant de devoir faire ça.”
“Yeah, hi,” Sinead cut in, waving for their attention. “Non-francophone here. Clue me in.”
Astrid smirked over at Sinead in a particularly haughty way and then turned back to Marc. “Fine, I can eat.”
“Bien,” he nodded, and then pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen island and went to make her a plate.
“So you’re the cop, huh?” Astrid asked.
“I’m a cop,” Sinead said carefully, flicking a glance over at Marc, but his back was to them for the moment.
“No, you’re definitely the cop,” Astrid said. “The one he’s been paying me to do work for.”
“Astrid,” Marc said, his tone a warning.
“You’re his ‘friend,’” Sinead said, clueing in some more about what the hell was going on.
“Something like that,” Astrid smirked. “Not that he’s holding up his end of the friendship right now. Asking a lot, and bringing me way more problems than I’d like.”
“Can we eat first, please, Astrid?” Marc asked, turning around with her plate and grabbing a set of utensils from the proper drawer.
“Fine,” Astrid said curtly, then focused on Sinead again. “Is this the first time he’s fucked your ass, or are you taking his cock on the regular now?”
“Astrid,” Marc said sharply, his voice loud. “Ce n’est pas un jouet que tu peux tourmenter. Elle n’est pas au courant pour l’e-mail. Ne m’oblige pas à te demander de partir.”
Astrid looked like she wanted to say something snide, but seemed to reconsider as she held Marc’s gaze for a long moment. Sinead wanted to spit something at her, or at Marc, because what the fuck? But she could also tell there was some sort of longstanding thing going on that she didn’t understand.
“Nourris-moi juste maintenant,” the younger woman finally said.
Marc let out a short breath and walked her plate and utensils over, then poured her a cup of orange juice and set it down for her as well, before he circled the island and paused next to Sinead. “I apologise for her behaviour, Detective,” he said. And Sinead could tell that he wasn’t using her title as a distraction or a tease. He was using it as a sign of respect.
Sinead just nodded, not sure what to say. She was furious that this woman was being such a cunt, and that she knew way too much about Sinead’s sex life at the moment. But she wasn’t sure how to feel about the rest of it.
“Now, I doubt we can have a civil conversation with this elephant in the room,” Marc said as he sat back down next to Sinead and picked up his utensils, starting to cut a new bit of his breakfast. “So I think I should start by telling you about what I received last night, Sinead.”
“Last night?” Sinead asked with a frown. When exactly had he ‘received’ anything in between the bar, fucking her brains out and going to bed?
“I was finding it hard to sleep,” Marc said. “So I came down here to check some emails and cool down from our activities. I- Actually, perhaps it would be best if I show you.” He stood and went into the sitting area, grabbing his laptop from one of the couches and coming back over to the kitchen island. He quickly opened it, put in the password, and then opened his emails and selected a specific one.
Sinead took one look at it and frowned. “It’s in fucking French, Marc,” she said.
“Ah, yes,” Marc said, smirking at his misstep, and quickly copied the text and opened a browser to translate it. Once he had the translation, he passed it back to Sinead.
Her frown only got deeper as she read it.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, her eyes going wide. She looked up at Marc sharply. “Why didn’t you tell me about this already? Why didn’t you wake me up last night to tell me?”
“Because there was no rush, Detective,” Marc said, keeping his voice even and trying to soothe her.
“It’s a threat,” Sinead scoffed. “To both of you, I’m assuming.”
“Mm,” Astrid hummed an affirmative around a mouthful of her sourdough, strawberries and cream.
“Yes, it’s a threat,” Marc said. “But not a- how do they say it? Not an imminent threat. ‘Do not continue to look into me’ is much different from ‘Stop doing what you are currently doing.’”
“It’s not that different,” Sinead said, but she could see his point in this particular circumstance. He was supposed to be outside of the investigation now. “But- Wait, you got this last night?” He nodded. “Then was this to do with Victor, or with what we did before?”
“How is he supposed to know that?” Astrid asked. “Seriously, he has the same information as you.”
“I’m not- That was rhetorical,” Sinead said, making a face at the other woman.
“I don’t know,” Marc sighed, and the tone of that sigh told Sinead he wasn’t thrilled about her and Astrid interacting at all, let alone like they were. “But it may not matter, or it might be both situations. All I can say is that they have made it clear they know who Astrid and I are, and they are giving us a fair warning not to cross paths with them again. And I’ve found, at least in my experience, people who are willing to give a free and open warning like this are much more... exacting in playing out their threats after the warning is given.”